Pieces of a puzzle
by MissApollonia
Summary: The night James and Lily died for Harrys life and Voldemort vanished, Harry lost not only his parents but also his godparents. When a magical letter re-enters him into the wizarding world, a godmother and godsiblings emerge along the way and accompany a small boy and what is the biggest adventure of his live #RewriteHarryPotter
1. Prologue

Once upon a time, there was a boy with raven-coloured hair and eyes like hazelnuts and a girl with hair like flames and eyes like the sea. They were no siblings, but they grew up like they were anyways. They shared everything and her home, the white castle by the sea, was his home as was his home, the sandstone manor by the lake, as well her home. When they grew older and came to Hogwarts, they shared a house, both proud and brave Gryffindors, and when they grew even older and fell in love, they fell in love with the best friend of the other. He made her friend feel loved and welcomed and she did the same for his brother in all but blood. Of course he was the godfather for her firstborn son, and his wife the godmother for her daughters and the other way around. The story could have ended here, but unfortunately, this was only the prelude. A mad man came after his son and succeeded almost in getting him, if it hadn't been for the love his wife and he harboured for the young boy. Her husband was imprisoned for treason of their secret escape and her pleas for his innocence was frowned upon as she was too involved in everything.

For ten long years she was banned from the life of his son. For ten long years she was abroad, trying to get the allies needed to finally get her husband out of prison and to get custody over his son. For ten long years the boy was living amongst muggles, with the magic-hating sister of his wife as a surrogate mother. But no longer…


	2. Letters

The particular hot day in July on which this story shall start, was a Friday. School had been over for almost a month and the perspective of going to Stonewall High, lead Harry to wish that it would be over for ever. Having already cooked the bacon for his cousin, Harry went to the door to get the mail which usually came just so much later than the newspaper that he had to get to the door twice. Once for uncle Vernons newspaper and once for the post.

Beneath all the white envelopes for his aunt and uncle lay one that stood out. Heavy and creamy, with emerald ink, addressed to none other than "Harry Potter, Ligusterweg 4, Cupboard under the stairs, Little Whining".

Uncle Vernon held out the expecting hand from behind his usual morning fortress consisting of a newspaper and a mountain of toast, guarded by a pot of black tea almost big enough to allow a swarm of guppies to grow in there. Harry handed him the letters, expect the one that was addressed to him. He would have gotten away with it, had it not been for his cousin, the little baby whale Dudley Dursley. Though Dudley tried his best to copy the fortress of his father, the comic book was not big enough to hide completely behind it and the young boy lacked the concentration and determination of his father to not acknowledge a single person in the morning.

"Mum, Dad, the freak still holds a letter."

Aunt Petunia made a reappearance from the kitchen, carrying a tower of pancakes over to her husband's plate.

"Freak, you do not get post. Hand it over to Vernon."

Harry, used to being addressed as "freak" by his surrogate family and usually quick to push over because it seriously wasn't worth the pain most of the times, looked up from the study of the envelope.

"But it is addressed to me, directly."

His uncle grunted at some thing or another in the newspaper. His aunt's eyebrow twitched. But it was the baby whale whose eyes had not strained from the pancake tower on his fathers' plate, who asked the question

"Well, does it say Freak?"

Shaking his head in wonder, Harry replied

"No it has my name and my address and my bedroom.."

Aunt Petunias eyebrows did no longer twitch. Her slender hand grabbed the envelope and seemed to freeze upon catching the writing.

"It is … them…"

Her small voice breached through uncles ignorance

"Whom?"

"Them… the freaks… my sister…"

The newspaper fell from his hands and soaked up the black tea and crashed the morning fortress of uncle Vernon. His vein over the left eye began to pulse.

"Room- both of you"

He managed to bellow.

Harry wise beyond his years already when it came to dealing with an angered version of his uncle, immediately removed himself from the direct presence of his elder relative.

Dudley however, did not have the same experience in regards to uncle Vernons rage and lingered around longer. The look of utter horror on Dudleys face when his father almost smacked him to remove him from the room, was something Harry would indeed commit to his memory.

Once they both were out of the door a battle for the keyhole started, which Harry lost due to different weight classes. Although both the airgap between door and floor and the keyhole offered a fine position to listen in conversations held in the living-dining room, it was an advantage to investigate the room from the keyhole.

Harry saw the feet of his uncle pacing through the room to the liquor cabinet, while his aunt remained standing next to the table. After the sound of some sort of liquid being poured in glasses and a major gulp from his uncle, Vernon seemed to gather his senses again

"We will not have any of that under our roof, Petunia. Nothing. They can go and sod off, was it them who took him in or us? Did they clad him? Cared for him? Nurtured him? No, my dear, we won`t let them get their hands in him again. While he is to live here, they have forsaken every right…"

It was not until much later in the night, when he was supposed to be asleep in Dudleys second bedroom, that Harry remembered the true insightfulness of the question his cousin had asked him. It was truly remarkable, that someone went to such lengths to know where he slept in the house…

Four days later, Harry was convinced that whoever this someone was, that they were quite crazy. On the positive side of things, the letters had finally earned him a bedroom of his own… and not even Dudleys daily angry fits lasting for several hours each, could change that fact. Harry also had lesser chores to fulfil (all his gardening duties had been removed from his schedule) and Dudleys friends had been forbidden from visiting. However, Harry had also been forbidden from leaving the house and even when he was trying to go to the garden, his aunt always managed to usher him back in… and he had yet to get his hand on one of the letters.

Letters, yes, there had been more. And there was not only one per day, still addressed very accurately taking into account his new accomondations, but there were increasingly more. Monday, there had been 16 letters between the paper of uncle Vernons newspaper and yesterday the 32 had been chopped by the blender by his aunt when he came downstairs. He wondered how they had gotten in the house, because Monday, uncle Vernon had blocked the mail slot…

Harrys eleventh birthday fell on a Wednesday, that was every bit as hot and humid as the whole last week. Confided to the house, Harry couldn't even go to the river to get some cold water, which Dudley bragged about permanently. Two slices of bread had been on his plate this morning to celebrate the fact that he survived yet another year under the tender care of his relatives. To acknowledge his special day, he did not have to do his last remaining Wednesday chore (moping the floors) and as getting the mail involved going out, he was no longer permitted to do this chore either. No letter came that day for Harry with the usual mail, which Dudley had to get from the front door.

Harry was still trying not to be too disappointed with the feeling that who ever had sent the letters did not want anything to do with him any longer and would remain a mystery unsolved… when a knock came from the backdoor by the kitchen.

Knock

Knockknock

Knockknockknock

"I know you're at home, Petunia", scuffed a distinct female voice.

Vernon and Petunia shuffled to the other side of the room and dragged Dudley behind him.

"You know, you make this unnecessarily complicated…"

And armed themselves with the nearest things, meaning the sausage pan in Petunias case and a crystal vase in Vernons case.

"Fine…" huffed the voice and a clicking sound could be heard as the backdoor opened on its own accord.

In the door stood a woman. She was not overly tall, nor overly small, a normal figure, clad in jeans and t-shirt. The only remarkable thing was her flaming orange hair – and the fact, that she held a letter in her hand which looked identical to the once sent to Harry beforehand.

Her eyes swept the room and settled on Harry. Ignoring all his relatives in the corner by the telly.

Her face changed rapidly for a few seconds, betraying a hell lot of emotions, before settling back to the calm and rested one, although with suspiciously bright eyes.

She crossed the room to come standing next to Harry and smiled at him

"Happy birthday, Harry"

She handed him the letter.

It was still addressed to him.

Directly.

Starring at it in wonder, he turned it a few times, memorizing the feeling of the paper in its hands, the elegant emerald writing. He cherished the fact, that it was his.

"You know, Harry, normally even in our world, to know what a letter says means you have to open it…"

"Our world", screeched Petunia which served to stop Harry from even attempting to open the letter farther as prompted by the gentle voice of its envoy.

"Our world… when we took him in… he was to have nothing to do with the likes of you."

The woman interrupted her: "You meant to break him away from us? From his heritage? His birth right?"

"We swore he would not end like my sister. Good for nothing, same as her husband…"

It seemed to be the breaking point for the woman. Next Harry remembered, the Dursley family was no longer in the room, but stuffed in the small powder room next to the front door and the woman sat on the chair beside him.

"I am sorry, Harry. Although I knew the likes of your aunt, I never imagined to find you like this…"

"Who are you?"

"I am Merja. I grew up together with your father James. Our mothers were best friends at Hogwarts…"

"Hogwarts?"

"The same school, you got invited to attend. The same school, everyone of us gets invited to attend upon our eleventh birthday."

"Who is this us?"

"People like you and me. People who can do magic"

"There is no magic in the world"

"Who would say something like this?"

"Uncle Vernon, when I dreamt about the flying motorbike…"

A sad smile washed over her face…

"There was a time, when you were riding on the flying motorbike. Though your mother always thought it too dangerous, much the same, when you first sat on the broom…"

"But magic… how … I am nothing special.."

"For some people, Harry, your parents and me among them, you are the most special person in the world, never let anyone convince you otherwise…"

"But, then why was I to grow up with them…"

This time the emotion flashing over her face was anger… Harry was sure of it… although he did not know at whom it was directed.

"Because although, you could as well be my blood, they are your blood and as such some people deemed it best for you to reside with them."

"And you couldn't come by…?"

"I could not. No one told me where you were. I had to intercept Hagrid this morning to get your letter with the address. Promising in fact to meet with you and him and Diagon Alley to buy all the stuff you need."


End file.
